Cheek
by RipplesOfAqua
Summary: Various Cassarric one-shots crossposted from tumblr and AO3.
1. Don't Mention It

Based on prompt #36 - "I wasn't going to mention it" for thewindysideofcare.

* * *

"Cassandra... about last night."

She halts, blade mere inches from her target's throat, her muscles contracting at the sudden interruption. Irritation pricks at her temples, but the roughness of his voice, the way it catches on her name - and not her title - makes her pause. Forcing a slow breathe through her lungs, she lowers her sword before turning to face him.

"Varric." Her voice carries more edge than she had intended, so she takes a moment to roll her shoulders and neck, willing herself to relax before continuing. "I wasn't going to mention it. I suppose I was foolish to think you would do the same."

In truth, Cassandra is disappointed, though not in him. No, she has enough self-awareness to recognize that she is afraid. Afraid of what he might say next, and embarrassed at her own cowardice.

She is supposed to seek the truth, not run from it as she did this morning.

Thankfully, Varric gives no indication that he notices her inner turmoil. Instead, he clasps his hands over his chest with an exaggerated pout. "That _hurts_ , Seeker. I actually have tact, unlike some other people."

Well if _that_ is how he's going to be, she doesn't have to listen. She squares her shoulders and turns back to the training dummy. She will drown out this unpleasantness with action.

Apparently Varric realizes he has gotten her hackles up and continues his observations in a lighter tone, his hands spread open in front of him.

"I just wanted to say that Tiny was _somewhat_ unjustified in refusing to share a tent with you. You only snore like _one_ druffalo, not a whole herd of them."

"Ughh." Cassandra slices the dummy across the chest, trying not to imagine a different idiot in its place.

She misses the glint in his eyes as he watches her mangle limbs of wood and leather.

"Though... since you _were_ technically the one to bring it up first-"

"No."

Varric's grin is wicked.

"I'll gladly be your teddy bear _whenever_ you have a bad dream," he drawls, before his voice roughens and drops lower than she has ever heard it. "Just give me some advance warning next time."

She freezes, her heart thudding to a painful standstill within her ribcage.

But then the moment passes and a warm glow suffuses her body. He may be an ass, but sometimes he surprises her.

"Hmpph." Cassandra raises an eyebrow, answering his grin with a smirk of her own. "Well, I suppose you _do_ have the appropriate chest hair."


	2. Novelty

Based on prompt #31 - "You may be an idiot, but you're my idiot."

* * *

"Why do you let them talk to you like that?"

The whisper is harsh and sudden above his ear, and it takes all of Varric's self-control to stop himself from flinching.

"Me! _Let_ them!" he splutters, his hands balling into fists. As if it was _his_ idea to get stuck here!

But his indignation does not clear quickly enough for him to form a more rational response. Her hand encircles his in an iron grip and she all but drags him out of the courtyard. He could put up resistance, he knows. And there is only so much she can do to him amongst the watching eyes of the Winter Palace, before she stirs up a scandal. But no matter how he tries to evade her questions, in the end the Seeker will always find what she has sought.

And honestly, Varric has been looking for an opportunity to escape.

Cassandra's eyes burn as she pulls him into a shadowed alcove, out of earshot from the other guests - the closest thing to privacy they'll find at this wretched ball. Her breaths come short and harsh with restrained outrage, and Varric cannot be sure whether she is furious _at_ him or _for_ him. But still her warm hand grasps his, and there he finds some comfort.

"This ball is a waste of time. They have done nothing but insult you. And the Inquisition."

"Seeker..." He sighs warily, his hand massaging at the bridge of his nose. He knows where this path leads, has traveled down it before, but now is not the time to retread old wounds. He is tired, and there is an assassin to catch.

"As if they are not liars and murderers themselves."

"Cassandra."

"They treat you like an amusement, Varric. Like a child, like a-"

He bristles at that. He's well aware of how these human nobles look at people like him, and he doesn't care for the reminder.

"In case you hadn't noticed Seeker, I'm a _dwarf_. A novelty." He laughs bitterly. "One who writes mediocre novels, at that."

She nearly growls. "And they dare complain about plot holes, when I doubt they could throw together a decent story between the lot of them. Your tales are magnificent, full of bravery and passion! Little wonder these fools don't appreciate your work, too caught up in their own cynicism."

She presses her lips together and scowls at him, her chin rising as if daring him to disagree.

"Done yet, Seeker?"

She sniffs. "For now."

"You know, my novels _are_ pretty popular here in Orlais, despite what my publisher would have me believe."

Her eyes only narrow in response.

Varric can't help but shake his head at the ridiculousness of the situation. "And this, coming from you, of all people. _I didn't know you cared_."

It was, after all, not so many months ago that she had called him a conniving little shit.

"That is different, Varric. _We_ are different." She shifts uncomfortably and angles her head to study the wall behind him. If Varric didn't know any better, he might say she was pouting. "Of course I care. You may be an ass, but you are _my_ ass."

That unfortunate phrase startles a genuine laugh out of him, and he feels the last vestiges of his irritation melt away. It's not Cassandra's fault, after all. And though she may be a noble, she is nothing like them.

Even if she does occasionally stab his books.

Despite the risk, Varric cannot resist poking at her. "Well Seeker, I didn't think our relationship had progressed to _that_ stage quite yet. But I'll take the rare compliment. Being compared to _your ass_."

"Ughh," she rolls her eyes and the tension between them breaks. She shoves lightly at his shoulder, but she cannot disguise the smile playing at her lips or the fondness in her words. "You know what I mean, dwarf."

Varric finds it difficult to disguise his own smile.

"I know, Cassandra."

And in truth, he _does_ understand.

They met as enemies, she with her threats of violence and he with his lies. For months they had clawed at each other's throats with cruelties and coldness.

But now...

They long to take those harsh words back.

What was once a duel is now a dance, with all the fire but none of the venom.

Equal partners, they only give what the other can take.

And Varric cannot deny how much he enjoys it.

Suddenly he is the one unable to make eye contact. His free hand reaches awkwardly to scratch the back of his neck while the other squeezes the palm still lying warm against his.

"Ah... thanks for the rescue, Seeker."


	3. Written

Varric finds her on the battlements, a wine bottle in her hand and an unopened book in her lap. She stares off into space, her back ramrod straight against the stone wall. Frowning, Varric plucks the novel out of her loose grip, and a quick glance at the cover tells him it's one of his own. He raises an expectant eyebrow, but she gives no response. Unease blooms in Varric's stomach, though the bottle remains nearly full. If Cassandra did not drink more than the bottle claims, she's ignoring him.

Varric has always hated silence.

" _Oh_ , did my writing finally drive you to drink, Seeker? Surprised you've tolerated it this long."

Sure enough, she cannot resist his teasing, though her answer does little to ease his discomfort.

"It… is only a story." Cassandra's voice is unusually flat, and still she will not look at him.

"That's _hurtful_ ," Varric answers plaintively, his hand clutching at his heart in obvious exaggeration. " _True_ , but still hurtful." All the bravado in the world cannot hide the truth of that statement. He does hurt—not for his book, but for Cassandra.

"No"—she sighs in heavy exasperation—"I mean _this_ is just a story." She gestures vaguely to their surroundings, but does not offer further elaboration.

For once, the Seeker is reluctant to say what's on her mind, and Varric finds himself at a loss for words.

So instead of talking, he plops down onto the cold stone next to her, his shoulder a hairsbreadth from hers. Deciding that he is decidedly too sober for this, he steals a swig from her bottle before trying again.

"A story, Seeker? Care to explain?"

"Everything that has happened here—the Conclave, the Breach, the Inquisition… it is _absurd_. So completely beyond the scope of anything this world has seen that…" Cassandra meets his eyes with a bitter laugh. "Well, if I were not living it myself, I would call it the plot of a poorly-written adventure novel."

"Ah like one of mine, then," Varric agrees distractedly while he attempts to sort through his racing thoughts.

With a dazed sort of intuition, he appreciates just how much he has come to rely on her composure—how much they all have. But now, with the cracks in her strength and faith visible, he feels doubt prick at the back of his own mind.

 _Helplessness—that is what Cassandra fears._

 _Are_ we _helpless?_

Against the enormity of the enemy they face, Varric cannot bring himself to utter empty platitudes, cannot reassure her that they will triumph, let alone survive the war intact. All he can do is comfort her that she is not alone in her anxieties.

He forces a smile onto his face and shifts until their knees and shoulders touch, a warm weight against the cold sky stretching above.

"Oh, this shit is _extremely_ weird. My editor will never believe me." He snorts. "As if I'd ever get involved with something _reasonable_."

"So you _are_ going to write about us?" Cassandra asks in that high, breathy tone she uses whenever he mentions the possibility of a new book. Still, her words are forced and her eyes lack their usual sparkle.

Varric recognizes the attempt, but he will not fall for it.

"Don't change the subject, Seeker. I know this is bothering you."

Cassandra scoffs but still leans into him, her head hovering just above his shoulder, reluctant to rest her weight on him completely. She hesitates for a long moment before speaking.

"I… I feel like a character in a book, but I do not know what the author plans for me. For us. I do not like to be helpless."

 _Ahh, there it is_.

Varric lets out a heavy breath, observing Cassandra's tired expression through the corner of his eye. This is not a topic he speaks about often but… _someone's_ got to do it.

She looks utterly miserable.

"Look, the tale of Andraste, the Maker—it _is_ a great story. Ridiculous, sure. Definitely cruel at times. But if it's the Maker writing, surely it can't end up all _that_ bad in the end."

She straightens and tilts her head away from him once more, swallowing audibly. "I trust in the Maker's will, yes. But I am no longer sure He is the author of all this." She fidgets and Varric sees undeserved guilt written in her eyes. "So much of this was considered blasphemy, just one year ago. It has shattered the teachings of the Chantry.

 _Maferath's balls, this is even worse than he'd thought._

Varric grasps for something to say, only to be left empty handed. The silence stretches into awkwardness, and so he must say _something_.

"Well, maybe the Maker's writing drunk," he manages to blurt out. "Trust me, things get odd when alcohol's involved."

The words replay in his mind and he winces. She is going to _kill_ him for that.

"Ughh."

Cassandra gives no further protest against his profanity, and while Varric is relieved for his own safety, the lack is telling. At least enough faith remains within her for his comment to earn a disgusted noise.

Varric wonders if it might be wiser to steer the conversation towards a safer topic. After all, he would prefer not to be the one responsible for destroying _all_ of the Seeker's devotion.

Maybe he can make her laugh, instead.

"Fine, not the Maker then. Someone else. Writing a book to impress their friends." He pauses to study her with an exaggerated thoughtfulness, his hand scratching at the stubble on his chin. "She's _very_ drunk. Trying to compete with her favorite, _roguishly handsome_ author. She'll regret everything come morning."

" _She_?"

The glare she aims at him pierces to his core, and he silently rejoices at the rekindled passion there. Right now, anger is even better than laughter.

Cassandra's fury leaves no room for helplessness.

Varric figures he might as well fan the flames a bit—make sure they don't burn out prematurely.

" _Oh_ , and why not, Seeker?" he asks, "Aren't all of you are into that romantic stuff? Written in the stars, and everything?"

Cassandra sniffs disdainfully, and Varric is sure he has never seen someone raise their chin at him in contempt so beautifully.

"Like you are not a romantic, yourself, dwarf?" She smirks and his heart soars. "I've read your books, _Varric._ Fated lovers and doomed heroes are your _specialty_."

" _Fated lovers?_ I write _crime serials_ , Seeker."

"Yes, crime serials _about tragic characters."_ She turns and jabs her finger into his chest. "The older dwarf brother, the Comte and Comptess. H—"

 _Hawke and Anders._

"I get it, Seeker," Varric says, pushing her hand away, his voice rough as he forces down his own painful memories. It will help no one if he gets emotional now.

Cassandra braces her hands against her hips, clearly incensed. "No! I still have not forgiven you for the third chapter of Hard in Hightown. I think fate is a dwarf—too cruel to his most beloved characters."

Varric rolls his eyes—everyone's a critic these days, though he's glad she wasn't referring to… a different couple.

It wouldn't have been a lie if she had.

Varric has always been attracted to tragedy. At least in his books he puts it to good use.

"Look Seeker, if you love a character, you give them pain, ruin their lives, make them suffer. Then they become more likable—forged into a better version of themselves."

He won't mention how fate can also leave its victims battered and broken.

Cassandra is clearly not convinced. "So that is what you do to them? What fate does to us? Makes us more likable?"

 _Is that why they gave each other shit for so many months_?

Varric can't help but wonder…

"Am I likeable, Seeker?"

Her gaze sweeps up and down his body as she takes his measure. "You are _highly_ annoying, but yes, you are quite likeable." She leans into him, so close he can feel her breath against his cheek, and her eyes crinkle in amusement. "Am _I_?"

" _Very_ likeable, Cassandra," he answers, his voice low and raspy. They're so close now, their noses are almost touching, and Varric thinks if he just leans in a little bit more…

Then something crashes in the courtyard below, and shouted curses shatter the still air.

Cassandra pulls back abruptly and turns her head away, though she cannot hide the color staining her cheeks. With a quick shake of her head she stands and walks over to the parapet, searching for the source of the commotion.

She's avoiding him again.

Varric pulls himself up off the floor with a groan and follows after her. He carefully places his hand on her shoulder, hoping that something of the previous moment could be salvaged.

"Cassandra, I—"

She pulls out of his grip and turns to face him, her arms crossed sternly over her chest. " _Why_ are we still having this frivolous conversation?

Varric won't let her get out of this _that_ easily. He flashes a smile and spreads his hands open in front of him. "Oh, it's a common occurrence, Seeker. The writer can't think of a good way to end things." His grin grows infuriatingly large. "You know, the strongest characters are never _helpless_ against the author's plans. They have a life of their own—can take over a scene, even an entire story. It's annoying as hell when you're trying to write, but a good storyteller always listens to the voices in their head."

Cassandra raises a dubious eyebrow. "So fate hears voices in her head and does not know what to do with us. Now what?"

"Well, right now we'll just have to wait until she comes up with something"—he waggles his eyebrows— "or take charge and end the scene on our own."

"Ughh."

She turns to leave, but he catches her wrist.

"Don't just leave like _that._ Where's the drama? The final climax?"

She only glares at him in response.

" _Nothing_? Alright, how about we list everything we actually like about each other—since we apparently find each other so likeable. Here I'll go f—"

"No."

"Everything we don't like? I thought we w—"

" _No_."

"We have to talk about _something_ , Seeker, or this scene won't be finished for weeks. Here, I spy, with my—"

"This is ridiculous."

"That sick of me already? Well there is something… Best way to end a scene, really, but you'd _never agree_ …"

"Out with it already, Varric."

Varric wonders if all this is truly of their own making, or if they're both being played as fortune's fool.

There's only one way to find out, though, so with a deep breath Varric crosses the point of no return.

"We… we could always kiss."

Cassandra regards him carefully, silently, and he fears the worst.

"Very well."

"Wh-what was that? I could have sworn you—"

"Kiss me, dwarf."

Varric has no time to respond. She grabs his collar and their lips collide.

Very likeable, indeed…

 _Maybe the story won't end so badly, after all._


	4. Unexpected

Based on the prompt "84. Show me what's behind your back" for cassandrapentayaaaaas.

* * *

She sits in his usual place by the fire, leaning into the warmth with contentment as she watches the lazy ebb and flow of the Main Hall. Much has changed since the fall of Corypheus, and the inhabitants of Skyhold go about their business with newfound spring in their steps. She ignores the prickle at the back of her mind-the old instinct to scold for idleness on the job-and smiles.

Work left unfinished today can be completed tomorrow- _tomorrow_ , whose newfound promise makes the present a little sweeter.

Whose promise of change has left Cassandra uncertain, unsure what she wants once her life is fully her own.

She hates uncertainty.

A bright flash by the far wall catches her attention, and she rolls her eyes in affection. There is only one inhabitant of Skyhold who would attempt to sneak unnoticed through a crowd while wearing such bright clothing-and manage to get away with it.

With swift feet, he skirts around the herd of courtiers and into the shadows against the wall. His eyes rove over their faces, searching, but for once he pays little attention to what is right in front of him.

He does not notice her yet, and as he draws near, she cannot help but tease.

"Something on fire, Varric?"

He starts, but gives no other recognition. Instead, he arcs his path away towards the library. As the tempo of his steps speeds away from her, Cassandra's face hardens at the rejection.

Must he always destroy her rare good humor?

Determined not to let him get away, Cassandra jogs after him, her long legs making quick work of the distance. She catches the door a moment before it closes, and when it slams shut behind her, they are left alone in the shadows at the foot of the stair.

She grabs his wrist, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make him pause. But when he turns towards her, the words stick in her throat.

What can she say? That she had been waiting for him? That she wanted to talk to him, had actually been looking forward to it? That she does not know how long they have in each other's presence before they part down separate paths?

Varric would never let her live that down.

But he turns to her, his brow raised in confusion though his eyes will not meet her own. "Hmm? Eager to see me, for once, Seeker?" There is an edge to his sarcastic response, and Cassandra wonders what has changed between them.

She scoffs, ignoring how easily his opening volley hits the target. "Do not pretend you weren't avoiding me, _dwarf_."

"Avoiding you?" he answers in indignation, "surely you must mean, _minding my own business_."

So he _is_ up to something questionable. Cassandra's mood sours further at his evasion and her fingers tighten unconsciously around his palm.

"I saw you, Varric. Skulking off somewhere unsavory."

Varric's hand clenches into a fist and rapid heartbeats press into Cassandra's fingers.

"In _Skyhold_?" he asks dubiously, "and it's none of your business, Seeker. I've done nothing wrong."

"Your cagey behavior suggests otherwise."

" _Cagey_?"-he snorts in disbelief- "oh, you've finally found an excuse to throw me in jail, then? Took you long enough..."

"Ughh." Cassandra never had to put up with such puns before she met him. Her gaze falls to his other arm, pressed awkwardly into his side and hidden behind Bianca. She grits her teeth, forcing her irritation into something more determined. "What is in your hand?" she asks carefully.

"You still don't trust me, do you? But if you _must_ know, I'm holding a hand. Think it might be one of _yours_ , Cassandra." He laughs, but the pitch is too high and there is tension in the corners of his eyes.

"Hmpph." She drops his hand, well aware of where it had been located, _thank you very much_. With her patience waning, the tries again. "The other one, Varric. Show me what's behind your back."

"Cassandra..."

" _Varric_."

He sighs. Then, with a shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders, accepts the inevitable. She'd find out sooner or later, and he _had_ meant to show it to her eventually.

He just hadn't expected the moment to come so soon.

"Fine, fine," he grumbles, "nothing gets past you, does it?"

Varric holds out the sheaf of parchment—each sheet cut to different sizes and covered in smudged handwriting. Cassandra reaches with both hands, the pages crumpling under the sudden urgency of her fingertips.

She reads, her eyes and heart racing across each line.

 _Oh._

"This… This is-"

"A mistake, Seeker, I know. Don't worry, it'll never see daylight again."

But Cassandra does not hear him, does not respond, for the words on the page echo too loudly in her ears.

 _Unexpected_ -that is what they are. Unexpected, but… not unwelcome.

"Should've tucked them into my duster if I wanted to get past you. Or down my pants"-Varric adds with a weak chuckle, attempting to lighten the silence-"don't think you'd like to check _there_ , unless…"

He winks.

But Cassandra does not see the question in his eyes.

"Quiet, Varric, I am reading."

"That's what I was afraid of…" he mutters under his breath, jamming his hands into his pockets.

He remains quiet now, awaiting the judgment of his writing-and perhaps of something more.

With a sharp nod, Cassandra looks him square in the eyes and gives her verdict. "This is _good_."

"Excuse me?"

"I have seen something like it before. It is based on a play?" she asks, her eyes bright with interest.

"Well, yes..." Varric strokes the stubble on his chin as he processes her words. It is not the outcome he predicted, but he'll take it. "I'll admit it's got some problems, but-"

"Good. I have always liked that one"-she shuffles through the pages, pointing at the name she finds-"and this character? It is the same one you killed off in-"

"The third chapter of Hard in Hightown, yeah it is. Or, not exactly the same-he's still dead in the other series, but..."

She exhales slowly, her anger having faded into something much warmer. The weight of his words settles in her stomach. "I am sorry, Varric. I misjudged you. Again."

"Y-you…" he splutters, "beg your pardon?"

"I was wrong," she admits with a raise of her chin, "but do not think that means I have forgiven you for killing him. I _might_ , but only if you finish this."

Varric's laugh is genuine this time, surprised at her lasting attachment to his character. With a burst of hope, he reaches to reclaim her hand. Turning it over, he presses his lips against her palm. "I didn't know you _cared_ , Cassandra."

"Yes, yes. You know I do"-she smirks, though a softness remains in her eyes-"I _also_ demand thirty percent of the royalties and approval over the final product.

" _Oh, do you now_?"

Her smile widens. " _Varruchio and Cassarina_? I am not blind, Varric. I deserve just as much a say where this goes as you."

"Fair enough, Seeker. Fair enough."


End file.
